


willy g in wonderland

by MxThmxNn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tired Will Graham, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will Graham Has Nightmares, Will Graham in a Dress, Will needs a break, literally every character - Freeform, other characters not mentioned in tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxThmxNn/pseuds/MxThmxNn
Summary: I had a terrible idea for an alternate universe in which Hannibal was structured like an anime with a semi-plot relevant Alice in Wonderland fanservice OVA and here we are. Set between seasons 1&2 our very tired protagonist, Will Graham finds himself stuck in a world where he is Alice (dress and all), Hannibal's the Hatter, Alana is the queen, everyone else is there, including some vaguely familiar strangers, and oh god somebody give him a break.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 2





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole (although there are no rabbits ‘round here)

**Author's Note:**

> We all know by now I have a horrendous attention span and start projects at an impossible rate, never finishing them, but this one was too funny not to put up, so enjoy! (I actually planned this one be proud of me lmao)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He kept his eyes locked on the dog until it simply wasn’t a dog.
> 
> Wait."

Damp earth under his feet, freezing air at his back, a suffocating fog. The place is familiar, a desolate copy of his back yard. Will found himself laying at the steps toward his house, waking up as if he’d just taken a midday nap. The perpetually gray sky would suggest otherwise. He pulled himself up with a yawn and waited for an indication of his next move. 

Something darted into the bushes, barely caught by Will’s peripheral vision. That must be his cue. In pursuit, he runs towards the noise, a familiar panting at the mouth of the withering forest. The sounds of undergrowth being trampled by little feet alert him more. The sounds of whimpering and snarling, typical of only one thing,  _ a dog _ . 

Will let out a sharp whistle and out came Winston. Shiny coat and welcoming smile, Will knelt down to welcome the dog’s love. He held out his arms, expecting a face full of sloppy kisses and playful yips. Winston was always a very energetic dog. Will let his arms go to wrap the creature, barely out of reach, but his nose turns away from Will. His eyes looked down the misty path down the center of the woods, spiraling who knows where. 

“Hey, what’s up buddy-”

And off went Winston. Energetic and determined, the dog sprinted into the trees, off center from the clearly defined path that bore straight down the middle. Will sighed with a fatherly disappointment, he did not want to lose his dog. 

“Winston! Buddy!” He warned. The animal didn’t pause at the name he was so used to hearing. “Hey! Get back here!” Will warned again, no response. He hung his head in momentary defeat before rising to his feet again to run. It was no use calling for Winston if he was just going to keep running. 

His vision tunneled on to the little caramel colored tail that was wagging just barely out of his reach, getting farther and farther away when Will swore he was close to wrangling the creature. His strides were uneven and desperate, nowhere near matching the dog’s consistent pace. His heart banged against the walls of its prison and his lungs were working over time. His arms clawed the air in front of him, trying aimlessly to get closer to Winston. The two continued their one sided chase until the entrance of the woods was nowhere in sight. Winston finally stopped, in front of a dead tree, only now turning to look at his pursuer. His mouth hung open with another drooling smile. Will smiled back, thinking he finally could give his legs a rest. But he got closer and the ground beneath him seemed to warp again, putting another impossible stretch of mulch between him and the dog. 

Winston let out a quick bark, looking at Will innocently as he struggled to catch his breath. His hands dug into his knees as he heaved for air. He tilted his head back up to give a late response, expecting to see the waiting pet a few feet from him. To his absolute dismay (and annoyance) he had already lost sight of Winston. Will’s jaw went slack as his eyes practically spun as they searched the forest around him. Another warm bark and he catches sight of Winston’s tail behind a tree to his right, enticing him to follow. Will immediately ran over to go catch his dog once more, yet he was just trapped in another chase. He swore to never let his eyes leave Winston no mater how dry they’ve become from the whistling wind. Wind that has gone from whistling to unpleasant screaming in this neck of the woods. 

He kept his eyes locked on the dog until it simply wasn’t a dog.

Wait.

Will blinked hard only to realize that he was no longer following his beloved stray. No. Running in front of him was another familiar, yet more unnerving figure. Extruded limbs, tar colored skin and swirling antlers. He was chasing the stag man, his suit twisting around his deformed arms as he ran. On his wrist was a golden watch, it’s face slowly sinking as the stag ran urgently.  _ He was going to be late. _ Will finally started to gain traction and catch up to the figure, just close enough to see the numbers begin to peel off their places behind the glass inside the watch. 

_ Weird _ . He thought

The stag never seemed to hesitate in his steps, running easily over gnarled roots and pokey undergrowth, cutting straight through. Will however, fell victim to the forest floor. A stray vine entrapped his leg, throwing him off guard, and taking him down. A string of curses left his mouth as he tried his best to get back up. He tried to find support from the area around him when the ground became suddenly soft. It gave quite a bit underneath his hands as the earth behind him pulled him down.

Falling. He was now falling through the floor, not a strange stag man or wayward puppy in sight. Just the air at his back and the light at the surface growing ever distant from his out stretched hand. His screams getting lost every meter he fell. 


	2. The Pool of Sweat (isn’t that the wrong bodily fluid?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He couldn’t possibly imagine what business such a gloomy figure like the stag had to do in this cavity inducing nightmare, but he best not ask. On all fours, Will shuffled back out from under the table and straightened himself upright. He patted at his thighs only to notice that his fingers slid down his form down a slope of unfamiliar fabric. When he rotated his hips slightly he felt a swish of cloth against the bare skin of his knees. Looking down-
> 
> What the hell?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't question why this chapter is significantly longer than the last one oops. Also all translations are done with Google translate, don't crucify me if the French is wrong.

“Alice! Alice!” a voice boomed. Will’s eyes opened weakly to the sound. “Wake up, Alice!” It called again.

“Jack?” Will mumbled. He was expecting to see the ever concerned face of his boss, ranting about another case. Yet, he found himself, alone. Alone in what seems to be a twisted representation of an office he knew too well. Hannibal’s office. The same dim lighting, casting the room in rich sepia tones and books everywhere. Yet the order of the room was twisted. Will started to notice ten too many doors and the furniture in places they were not normally. The chairs he and Hannibal sit in hung on the ceiling, still opposed to each other, framing the hole Will supposes he just fell through. Hannibal’s desk was posed, crooked, all of its drawers open, every file spilled haphazardly around it.

“What is she doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“This can’t be Alice, can it?” 

“Well, she really doesn’t  _ look _ like an Alice at all.”

“Don’t be rude! We were never told what she was supposed to look like!”

The conversion that loomed above Will’s head sounded like one between Jack, Price, Zeller, and Beverly. As far as he knew, there was nobody in this room with him. He turned his head to see if anybody was there with him, yet he truly saw that he was alone there. There was no wise little blonde girl in sight. No Alice to be seen. 

“Tsk, the Hatter hates when guests are late. She’s going to very late if she just keeps looking around all lost like that.”

Will scrubbed his hands against his cheeks before standing up. His bones ache in places they shouldn’t and he started to question what he hit on the way down. The air underground is thick and damp, the study is warm. It wasn’t unpleasant but Will noted his inability to breathe in deeply without feeling suffocated. 

A pitter patter is picked up by Will’s ears. The sound of a stopwatch, a clock perhaps. Before his very eyes, a miniature figure skittered on the hardwood floor. It was the subject of his earlier chase, the stag man now only about a foot tall. He was continuing his timely pace, easily getting through the room, jumping over stray books and silverware. Again, no time to waste.

Curiosity piqued in Will as he followed the creature as it seemingly ran under Lecter’s desk and outside of the room. He crouched down on his sore knees to see the smallest of all the doors slam, a puff of sweetened air hitting his face. He reached over under the desk to check if he could open the door. The knob turned easily between his two fingers in a pinch, revealing the world that lay outside. With such a limited opening, Will could only see so much of the universe outside, sickly sweet and candy colored. 

He couldn’t possibly imagine what business such a gloomy figure like the stag had to do in this cavity inducing nightmare, but he best not ask. On all fours, Will shuffled back out from under the table and straightened himself upright. He patted at his thighs only to notice that his fingers slid down his form down a slope of unfamiliar fabric. When he rotated his hips slightly he felt a swish of cloth against the bare skin of his knees. Looking down-

_ What the hell? _

Where there was once rugged slacks made of uniform material there was a bell shaped skirt. Baby blue with a white trim, a white apron laying on top. Will lifted the dainty fabric to see an abundance of white tulle and cotton, a petticoat structuring the garment. His shins peaked out from under, adorned with striped socks and black mary janes he had only seen on the covers of British novels. Anxious hands traveled back up to his torso feeling that his flannel had been swapped for a the top of the dress and apron. At his neck was a skeleton key on a leather cord. It gleamed a bronze hue, the top decorated with pointed antlers. Will’s mouth remained open in complete disbelief. He ran to the mirror that sat by the door of the office to take an actual good look at himself. 

It felt like a cruel joke. Whoever was playing this prank on him got him good. The FBI agent gawked at his own appearance in the mirror, instantly recognizing the peter pan collar that stood out from the rest of the garment. A brilliant white sticking out from a sky blue, the apron was neatly affixed with bows at the back and everything came together with a black bow pinned perfectly in his hair. It laid precisely among his curls and held still when he moved his head. He stepped back slightly to take in the rest of his outfit. He stood like an irritated toddler dressed by his parents for church.  _ He was Alice.  _

“Very funny, very fucking funny,” he deadpanned. He tilted his head back up to face the dirt ceiling. “You guys can stop now.”

“My, my, my, Alice is quite vain,” Jimmy lamented.

“You guys can call me Will again, I get your joke, show’s over.”

“She is indeed, let’s hope that this vanity won’t make her late,” Katz replied, ignoring Will’s complaint.

“Hey!” he shouted. “It’s me Will.”

“God, she is much chattier than I recalled. Yapping like some kind of terrier, I don’t think the Hatter will like her lack of manners,” Zeller added. “Hey, are you sure this is the one?”

In the silence Will could practically hear an eyeroll. 

“Yes. This is our Alice,” Jack stated. 

Anger bubbled up in Will’s chest but he decided it was best to resign himself. Tension held itself in his shoulders as he now knew the drill. He knew how the books went (albeit very vaguely). He shut his eyes and noted that the little door under the desk was his only way out, despite having a key, he deduced it was not meant for any of these doors but the one under the desk. His hand clutched the piece of metal, feeling the cord go slack. He sighed, relieved knowing he saved himself some legwork. Now his questions lied in how he was going to fit through. He sat with himself for a second, trying to remember the sequence from the novel.

_ I look around the room, tired. None of these doors open to my destination. I search behind the desk and see a decanter containing a swirling violet liquid. This is my design.  _

Will opened his eyes again abruptly, breaking the delusion. “Of all the places I could utilize my empathy, this is the last place I’d ever imagine,” he muttered into the palm of his hand. He bunched the layers of his skirt in his fists without regard for the fabric. He tiptoed around the clutter all over the floor to the back of the mahogany table. The flames in the fireplace lapped dangerously close to the hem of his skirt as he bent down to the drawer. Inside were the items he expected to find. 

The bottle of purple liquid, about the size of a single consumption Whiskey shooter, made out of glass, cut like crystal. A tag was tied around its neck, a paper written in ornate cursive “Drink Me,” next to it, an oddly shaped biscuit. The pastry resembled the muzzle he had previously seen on criminals wheeled out from the Boston State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. “Eat Me” its matching note read.  _ Of course.  _

“Clever Alice,” Jack mused. 

Will paused in annoyance, getting tired of the persistent narration covering over his own internal monologue. He shook his head and picked up the food items, examining them once more before shutting his eyes again, placing himself in the fantasy of the books, pocketing the biscuit.

_ I sip the contents of the bottle. 36 flavors linger on my tongue, cake, roast, fresh fruit, cream, more. The drink is smooth down my throat but it buzzes as it hits my stomach and I start to shrink. This is my design. _

“36 flavors, huh,” He whispered. “Wonder if that’s true.” Turns out, it was. Will recoiled at the taste, not unpleasant by any means but it was still off-putting. Definitely 36 flavors simultaneously as opposed to sequentially. A terrible amalgamation, sharp on the tongue but not difficult to swallow. A beat of silence passed. Nothing.

The anticipation of shrinking began to bite at Will, he was hoping it was a total hoax and this was all one  _ very _ elaborate joke. He let his body settle a second before his ears began to ring and a warmth bloomed just under his ribcage. He sucked in a labored breath as his skin felt as though it was tightening. The outline of his fingers splayed on the desk grew blurry and his hands began to compress. The rest of him followed shortly there after. He really couldn’t believe this was happening as he shrunk to a doll’s stature, just small enough to fit through the door. He grabbed the hem of his dress improperly again, holding it up to his waist, exposing the bloomers that were superimposed onto his body. He made a running start for the entrance, the outside drawing him near. It called to him, his Wonderland. 

A gust of wind suddenly made its way through the entrance, slamming the door shut.  _ Fuck _ . The breeze managed to knock the shrunken man down, forcing him to fly back into a book. The hard cover collided with the crook of his neck. All of the air had been punched from his vastly reduced lungs as he laid limply on the floor, resting against the leather spine. 

The irritating laughter of his colleagues poured down on him. Despite being entirely out of Will’s sight, he could practically see Brian wheezing into Jimmy’s shoulder as they both braced onto Bev. Will rolled his eyes as the trio made a joke of his misfortune. He looked up spitefully at the endless and towering room at his faceless ridiculers before reminding himself of the task at hand.

_ Get yourself together and get out. _

Will pulled himself together, ignoring the pain at his nape. He straightened out the ruffles of his skirt and ran furiously towards the shut door. He was admittedly winded from traversing the few feet, but he was happy there was no wind keeping him from his end goal. 

“Alice,” Beverly called mockingly.

“Who’s gonna tell her?”

“Not me.”

Will stopped as his hand neared the golden doorknob. “Tell me what?” He shouted. “Tell me what?” He repeated, while his stature had miniaturized, the anxious edge of his voice did not. A deep frown imprinted on his cheeks at the silence. He shook his head, feeling the clipped bow yank at strands of hair. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. And turned it. And turned it again. 

Locked.

“Goddamnit,” Will cursed, disappointed he didn’t pick up what Beverly meant. Unfortunate inconvenience was a pattern he should’ve picked up sooner. “At least I still have the key,” Will reassured himself as he patted at the center of the chest, searching for the leather cord. He felt around the entire expanse of his chest to find nothing but the smooth apron and the dress underneath. No key. An exhausted groan poured from the gallows of his stomach after realizing that his little tug on the key earlier had actually broken the strap. It laid on the floor ten feet, and a whole world away from the desk.

It didn’t matter how childish it was, or that his narrators would probably mock him again. He decided that an appropriate release of feelings was to stomp his left foot straight into the floor. Particles of dust cleared from the patch of cherrywood. The sight of the delicate shoe and striped sock forced into the ground so aggressively only exacerbated the immaturity of Will’s actions. In fact, it was the whole outfit. The way the dress was cut, the color, it was a little girl’s Sunday best, not suitable for an FBI agent approaching his 40’s.

Safe to say that the fire to escape into the garden had long burned out as Will made his way back to the start where the key rested on the floor. He had made it just out from under the table, again before placing his hands over his knees and heaved. Nobody ever discussed how tired Alice must’ve felt on her adventures. Then again, no sane person would ever find themselves as the protagonist of the drug laden fairy tale.  _ Sane. _ Could Will even argue that he was a sane man ever again after this? 

_ Focus, Will. _ He shook his head again, closing his eyes. He remembers the scene in which a bite of the biscuit caused Alice to grow. 

“Right,” He muttered, retrieving the cellophane wrapped pastry from his pocket, impatiently shucking the plastic, letting it fall to his ankles. He hastily took a bite, letting crumbs fall everywhere. (Thank God, no weird flavors this time, just vanilla and sugar.) Hannibal would greatly disapprove of his animalistic table manners, but Hannibal wasn’t there to reprimand him, so he didn’t care. 

With a rush, Will felt his heart skip a beat. The exact opposite feeling of when he was shrinking. He believed that he’d return to a regular size after only ingesting half of the biscuit. He rationalized that he could manage his dose of whatever resizing potion was folded into the dough. He believed he was about to outsmart his literary counterpart, avoiding growing disproportionately. 

He should just accept that skipping through the narrative was impossible. 

Will was now crammed as tightly as someone could be in the study. Limbs folded awkwardly under themselves, furniture now miniscule, threatening to be crushed by his joints. The folds of his hair bow brushed up against the two chairs suspended on the ceiling by roots in the dirt. He looked upwards to see that he was now close to the surface world he had fallen from. Light flooded his vision, almost blinding. At the back of his mind lingered the possibility that standing up would break through the walls and he could be free; a giant, but free. 

No. If his prior choices stated anything, his own intuition would not win here. He wasn’t outsmarting Lewis Carol today. He averted his gaze down to the floor, meters between him. The clutter looked like props in a dollhouse to him and the key was barely visible on the ground. He was holding his breath and using every muscle within his core to allow for his arm to reach the key. Will pinched his fingers together attempting to grasp the piece of metal off the floor. It slid around and slipped under the pad of his pointer finger. He struggled for a minute or so, trying to get the damned thing off the floor with no success. 

“Alice” exhaled deeply, giving up on the key. He leaned his head back against the bookshelf, defeated. Perhaps he wasn’t ever going to get to the garden that lay just beyond the door under the desk. No point. Now higher up, Will’s head was surrounded with all the risen heat. Perhaps his size made the warmth more uncomfortable, and he wrinkled his nose at the feeling. 

_ Drip. _

“Augh!” Jimmy yelped, voice still manifesting from God knows where. 

“Alice!” Katz followed.

“Calm down, this is natural, please stop being so immature,” Jack interjected.

“I thought Alice was supposed to cry here! She is definitely not crying.”

“Stop being so skittish!”

Rude comments aside, Will’s unlivable perspiration habits were literally magnified to his dismay. He put an enlarged hand to his forehead, feeling the curls as they started to mat to his forehead. He swiped the backs of his fingers over the area and ended up throwing what looked like buckets of water all over the floor. Books, forks, pens, whatever started to float. Ink began to bleed from the moisture, blackening the puddles. 

The FBI profiler stared blankly, mildly disgusted with himself. He was always ashamed of how much he sweat, but this was probably his worse nightmare as the heat of the room didn’t cease. He looked down to see a pool fall around his feet, most of the furniture starting to swirl around his ankles, soaking into his socks. 

“Ew,” Will shuddered. He’d never been so repulsed by his own body before. Well…  _ Unimportant. _ He held his head in both hands, the temperature swelled into something infernal. The pool of sweat had risen just past his waist. He threw his head back, exposing some of his neck before fanning himself with a free hand. The small breeze relieved him of the heat for just a second. Fan after fan, Will noticed that the water level had risen again. Or better to say, his head was noticeably lower than it had just been.  _ He was shrinking _ . He sped up the motion until he had diminished to a more manageable size, now floating, his body swaying with the current. Will needed to get to the exit some how; he pulled his hand from beneath him and pinched his nose and decided to dive under. 

Self deprecating vagaries and nightmares of him swimming in his sweat came back to bite him as the room disappeared, lost to the ocean. His arms paddled aimlessly through the sea, nothing resembling Hannibal’s study anymore except the one odd book or silver knife drifting past his head. 

It was an incredulous feat that Will had not tired from holding his breath or swimming as long as he did. He swam for what seemed like hours in an ocean of his own sweat until his arm brushed up against something.  _ Someone _ . Living and breathing, Will encountered another man swimming right beside him. He increased the pace of his strokes, hoping to catch the swimmer’s attention. 

Thankfully he did and it did not take very long before the man noticed Will frantically waving at him. He waved back and pointed upwards, communicating that they talk above the surface. Both men swam upwards, breaking the surface of the “salt water”. Broad daylight entered Will’s eyes the second he opened then. He coughed and sputtered as brisk and salty air bombarded his senses. He trained his vision on the stranger, oddly mouse like features. Smooth waves of cool brown hair, graying stubble on his chin. His eyes were dark, conniving, and he donned a white shirt with a chestnut waistcoat. On his face a asymmetrical smirk was accentuated by the daylight. In a way he looked like Will from another world, he had that uncanny familiarity Will couldn’t place. 

“ _ Bonjour, Je M'appelle Anthony Dimmond.”  _

_ Shit. Did this guy only speak French? _

The mouse-like man continued to speak lines of French, ignoring the very lost expression on Will’s face.

Will’s mind blanked. He knew rudimentary French from his very blurry highschool days, not nearly enough to keep conversation with the stranger. 

" _ Excusez-moi, je ne parle pas français, désolé,” _ He stuttered out. His pronunciation was leagues away from correct and sounded more like an insult to every linguist known to man. “No, no  _ français, _ ” He apologized, shifting his eyes down to the depths below. 

Will’s companion sported a dumbfounded look at Will’s dismal excuse for French. Only now did his actual mouse ears come to Will’s attention. Rounded and felt-like, pink at the center, they twitched receptively. “Why didn’t I figure that sooner, pardon me. My name’s Anthony, Dimmond, if you didn’t catch that earlier,” he reintroduced. He offered a gloved hand to Will to shake. 

Will hesitantly took Dimmond’s dripping hand in his own. “Graham, Will-”

The mouse shook his head and let out a laugh. “Of course, if only I’d recognized you sooner. You must be that  _ Alice _ everybody talks about!”

Will hated the familiarity the mouse man spoke to him with. They had never met in his life and how he spoke to him like they were fresh acquaintances rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Actually, my name isn’t Alice. It’s Will Graham,” he replied, dejected and bitter. 

“Don’t jest me with such preposterous things, Alice. We’ve all heard about you, I’ve never heard of a “Will Graham,” just William the conqueror.” 

Will considered sinking down into the ocean of his sweat and drowning there instead. The constant ignorance everyone in this world had for his name got old extremely quickly. Correcting Anthony had almost no use. But cutting their conversation off there would be rude. 

_ What a predicament for poor Alice. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop being so mean to Will but oh god is it funny.

**Author's Note:**

> There are wayyyy too many plot points in the original Alice in Wonderland that I don't remember but it lowkey fits the characters really well. (also this is structured off the OVA from Black Butler if anyone cares.)


End file.
